Dragon's Lair

DRAGON'S LAIR

Sara Craven

Brief and disastrous. That described exactly the marriage of Davina

and

Gethyn

Lloyd.

Now, their first meeting in two years--at Gethyn's home in

Wales--only confirmed the tangle of misunderstanding that lay

between

them.

And while Davina might acknowledge deep inside herself that all

the old cravings for him were still there, it was a different matter to

betray her feelings to him. What had changed, after all?

He had only the hollowness of passion to offer her, not the warm

reassurance of loving she needed!

It was rather stuffy in the small room. The air was heavy with the

scent of ageing leather, paper and old-fashioned furniture

polish—none of them unpleasant in themselves but oddly

oppressive when served up in such a rich mixture. Or was it simply

her over-charged emotional state which made them seem so?

Davina Greer could not be sure.

She pressed her tongue over her dry lips and cast a longing glance

at the tall Georgian windows which gave the impression of having

been hermetically sealed since the day they were installed. Then she

transferred her gaze to her hands, clasped tensely together in her

lap. They were nice-looking hands, she thought judiciously. A little

too slender perhaps, but perfectly capable as she had proved over

and over again during the past two years. And very bare.

Her lips tightened slightly as almost involuntarily her right hand

moved protectively to conceal her left. Surely by this time she

should have forgotten what it had been like to wear, briefly, that

broad band of antique gold, just as she had tried to forget the

emotions she had experienced when it had been placed on her

finger.

And in that at least she had succeeded, she thought. Wasn't that

precisely why she was here today?

Mr Bristow was still on the telephone, his voice reassuring, his

head nodding firmly as he pressed each point home. They'd hardly

had time to do more than exchange a conventional greeting before

the call came through, so she had no idea what news he had for her.

She stared at the buff folders tied with tape littering the polished top

of his desk. One of them she supposed concerned her, but she had

no idea which it was. She tried unobtrusively to crane her neck and

read some of the names and references printed on the folders, but it

was obvious that Mr Bristow was briskly winding up the call, so

she leaned back in the comfortable leather chair and tried to give an

impression of relaxation.

'Sorry about that,' he said as he replaced the receiver. 'Slight case of

panic, I'm afraid.'

'And you're looking at another.' She tried a laugh, but it wasn't a

great success.

Mr Bristow's eyes studied her keenly for a moment, then he reached

for one of the files. It was a very thin one, she noticed, containing

only a few papers.

She tried again. 'I—I hope you have good news for me?'

Mr Bristow pursed his lips. 'I'm afraid not, or more truthfully, I have

no news at all. Your—er—Mr Lloyd has simply not answered any

of my letters.'

'I see.' Davina bit her lip. 'Well, perhaps he hasn't received them. If

he's still moving around all the time …'

Mr Bristow shook his head. 'When there was no response to the

first letter, I sent the remainder by recorded delivery,' he said. 'And

Mr Lloyd is certainly not—moving around at present. He's been

back in Britain for some considerable time, or so we discovered

when we traced him.'

'Back in Britain?' Davina echoed bewilderedly. 'But when? There's

been nothing in the papers about it.'

'Perhaps he wanted it that way,' Mr Bristow suggested. He gave the

papers in front of him a frowning look. 'I can assure you that our

information is quite correct. He's resident at present at'—his frown

deepened—'Plas Gwyn, Moel y Ddraig. I'm not at all sure my

pronunciation is correct, but ...'

'I get the general idea,' Davina said with a touch of impatience. She

was secretly appalled, and her mind was whirling madly. She had

accustomed herself for so long to the idea that Gethyn was at a safe

distance on the other side of the Atlantic that the news that he had

returned quietly, without the blaze of publicity which had attended

the majority of his comings and goings in the past, was a severe

shock.

At least she could be thankful that he was not actually here in

London, she told herself.

She swallowed, forcing herself to speak calmly. 'So he's back in

Wales. Well, that should make things—easier, surely?'

'Not if he refuses to reply to our letters,' Mr Bristow pointed out.

'Can you think of any explanation for his continuing silence? When

you first consulted me, you gave me the strongest impression that

your—Mr Lloyd would be only too glad to consent to a divorce.'

Davina's hands were gripped together so tightly that her knuckles

showed white. She said evenly, 'That was what I had every reason

to believe. My—my husband's—exploits during our separation have

been well-enough documented.' The colour rose faintly in her

cheeks. 'I can't imagine a single reason why he should wish to

prolong this—farce a day longer than necessary.'

Mr Bristow sighed. 'As I pointed out to you before, newspaper

gossip in itself does not constitute acceptable evidence. And you

realise of course that if your husband does not give his written

consent to the divorce you would have to wait a further three years

for your freedom.'

'But that's monstrous!' Davina was indignant.

'It's the law,' Mr Bristow reminded her placidly. He hesitated for a

moment. 'I can always write again, pressing Mr Lloyd for a reply,

but I was wondering ... Have you—er— Miss Greer—considered

the personal approach?'

'Are you suggesting that I should go to Gethyn and—ask him to

agree to a divorce?'

'It has been done before,' Mr Bristow said drily. 'It could result in a

perfectly amicable arrangement, particularly as there are only the

two of you concerned. Sometimes where there are children to be

considered, difficulties can arise, but that isn't the case here.'

'No,' Davina said woodenly. 'That—isn't the case. But I was hoping

to avoid having to see my husband again.'

'I think some kind of interview is almost inevitable,' Mr Bristow

said kindly. 'For one thing, we have to convince the court that a real

attempt has been made at reconciliation.'

Davina's face burned hotly. 'That's totally impossible.'

'Perhaps, but you must at least go through the motions, Miss Greer.

It's not sufficient, I'm afraid, merely to remove your wedding ring

and revert to your maiden name. The divorce laws may have eased

in recent years, but they are not yet that lax,' he remarked with

something like asperity. 'Perhaps you would care to think over what

I have said and then let me have your further instructions in a day or

two.'

'Yes,' Davina gave him a constrained smile as she rose to her feet.

'Maybe that would be best.'

'I'm sure it would.' Mr Bristow came round the desk to shake hands

cordially with her at the door. 'Divorce is a messy business, Miss

Greer, at the best of times. If there is a chance of reducing the

unpleasantness to any extent, then I think you should take it.'

Davina's thoughts were in total confusion as she emerged from the

offices to the warmth of the summer afternoon outside. Officially,

she had the rest of the afternoon off, and she supposed she should

go home where her mother would be eager to hear what had

happened. But she would be expecting to hear that Gethyn had

agreed to the divorce and that a date had already been set for the

hearing, Davina thought wryly. What had actually transpired would

be much less acceptable. Besides, this was one of her mother's

bridge afternoons, and Davina had no wish for her private affairs to

feature over the tea-cups once the game was over.

She paused irresolutely on the crowded pavement, then hailed a

passing taxi, telling the driver to take her to the Park. At least she

would be delaying the inevitable recriminations for a .while. Also

the stuffy atmosphere in Mr Bristow's room seemed to have given

her a slight headache and she wanted to be able to think clearly.

She had been completely taken aback by Mr Bristow's suggestion

that she should seek Gethyn out and ask him to allow the divorce to

go ahead. He had made it all sound so civilised and reasonable, she

thought blankly, but then he had not had to suffer those few brief

weeks of her marriage to Gethyn.

People said, didn't they, that to marry in haste was to repent at

leisure. Well, she could vouch for the truth of that. Her marriage

had been the wild, extravagant impulse of an hour and almost as

soon regretted. And now her two years of repentance were drawing

to an end and she could be free again—but only if Gethyn agreed.

This was what stuck in her throat—this dependence on the whim of

a man she had not even seen for two years. That, and the

knowledge that he was probably maintaining this silence

deliberately to annoy and worry her. There could be no other

reason. He had no more wish to continue this nominal relationship

than she had.

She paid off the driver and walked slowly into the Park. There were

people everywhere and the sun shone down out of a cloudless sky,

but Davina felt cold and alone.

Perhaps this hadn't been such a good idea after all, she thought,

skirting a pair of lovers entwined on the grass and oblivious of

everything but each other. Once—a long time ago—she and Gethyn

had lain like that in this very park and let the world walk

indulgently past them. She bit her lip, remembering how he had

overcome her reluctance, her protests, drawing her down beside

him with compelling hands, his eyes narrowed against the sun

laughing up at her, reducing her scruples to absurdity.

Then his mouth had found hers and she was lost, caught in a web of

delight from which not even the thought of her mother's shocked

disapproval of such conduct could release her. His lips had

explored her face, her throat and shoulders, rousing her

nerve-endings to rapturous life. She had been amazed by the ardour

of her own response, scared by the feelings his lightest touch could

evoke. It had been Gethyn who had moved away first, she recalled

painfully, levering himself away from her and sitting for a moment,

his head buried in his hands. Then he had looked up and seen her,

watching him anxiously, her face flushed, her eyes enormous, her

mouth blurred and swollen a little from his passion, and the

harshness of his dark face had softened momentarily.

'Come on.' He got lithely to his feet. 'Let's get out of here before we

get arrested.'

The following day, over lunch, he had abruptly asked her to marry

him. And she, bewitched by his lovemaking into a frank longing to

belong to him completely, had eagerly agreed. It was only later—a

long time later—that it occurred to her that he had never said he

loved her.

Davina quickened her steps, instinctively fighting the torment that

she had released upon herself with these memories. What a child

she had been, she lashed herself derisively. No doubt Gethyn had

supposed that at nineteen she shared the slick, knowing

sophistication of most of her contemporaries. Her eager innocence